


Ep 1x01: Waking Up Slow

by patronsaintofangst



Series: Wear The Crown (Season 1) [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Love Triangles, Motorcycles, Opie Winston Lives, Post-Canon, Smut, Sons of Anarchy is Its Own Warning, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patronsaintofangst/pseuds/patronsaintofangst
Summary: When a neighboring charter takes a serious hit, Jax, Opie, and the rest of SAMCRO must decide between exacting revenge or taking the situation, and the club, in a whole new direction.
Relationships: Lyla Winston/Opie Winston
Series: Wear The Crown (Season 1) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123976
Kudos: 3





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> This is a novelized screenplay series, broken up into acts instead of chapters. And if you can't tell already, it retcons the last season of _Sons of Anarchy_ , which finished in 2014. There are several key differences sprinkled throughout, but I promise they are obvious and have well-thought-out explanations.

Clementine couldn’t help the giggles that were escaping her lips as she and Reece ran from the cops, her wild blonde hair trailing along behind her. Reece was too busy rolling his eyes at her and struggling to keep his pants up to pay attention to much else, but his loose man bun was coming out in chunks as he fought to keep up with her. 

“I swear to God, Clem, if we get caught this time, I’ll…”

“Do nothing, like always,” she teased. 

She turned back to the path in front of them in the nick of time, scaling the large chain link fence there with ease. She put her hand down for Reece to grab as he followed after her. Just much slower. And he swatted it away as she dropped to the other side. 

“How  _ do _ you do that?”

“What?” she asked, feigning ignorance. 

“It’s not fair,” he insisted, struggling to stay out of their grasp. “You’re not supposed to be that hot  _ and _ faster than me. It’s not fair. I call bullshit, man.”

She shrugged her shoulders and flipped off the two deputies that had been chasing them for the better part of a mile as Reece dropped to the other side next to her. They were almost home free now, and she knew they wouldn’t touch them as soon as they got back on clubhouse soil.

It was an unspoken rule she and Reece regularly exploited when they got bored or felt like getting in trouble within the city limits. 

Yes, the two officers now calling in to their superiors to tell them the bad news could come and arrest them at any time. Their names were clearly printed on the badges on the front of their kuttes, but they weren’t going to ever actually do it. And other than giving them a little exercise and something to do on a lazy Sunday night, Clementine wasn’t even sure why they pretended to care. Her and Reece were still legacies to a motorcycle club that ran this whole town. 

They were untouchables. And everybody knew it. 

It had to be something about keeping up appearances, she reasoned. But either way, it didn’t matter much to Clementine. She was far too concerned with enjoying the little bubble she and Reece had built themselves over the summer. The bubble that currently shielded her from the harsh realities she fought so hard to ignore most days. 

Clementine slowed down to a light jog as they came around the last corner, the deputies now completely out of sight and earshot. The large imposing building up ahead broke up the otherwise empty skyline in the distance due to every bit of geography surrounding it being unbelievably flat. As far as she was concerned, it might as well have a huge banner on the wrought iron fence that read ‘Motorcycle Gang Lives Here’ too, but she was sure her dad would think that was a bit of overkill. And it would ruin the pretenses they’d built with the town. 

The same ones employed when they needed to turn a blind eye to how everyone just seemed to magically get what they needed in the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town in a part of California most people forgot about. 

It worked better this way, she knew. The town got protection. The club got business. And she got… Well, she got pain, but that was beside the point. Her pain was nothing compared to how bad it could be if they let it. 

If they weren’t here at all. 

“Think they’ll call my dad?” Reece asked suddenly. “Or yours?”

She shrugged again in the way of an answer. Now that they were basically walking, when she moved her shoulders, the rough and cracked leather of her kutte made a crunching noise. And it always reminded her of someone sliding across a leather seat in a nice car, never failing to make her smile. 

“Why?” she asked, throwing him a wink. “Scared, Puck?”

She popped the P in his club-sanctioned nickname, turning to face him with a smirk. He grabbed her chin in return, giving her a quick peck on the lips, holding her there to make sure he didn’t miss. 

“No, sweetheart,” he answered, drawling out every syllable. “Just wondering if you’ll be able to make it up to me when they flay me later. Because it’s not like  _ your _ ass is gettin’ in trouble.”

“Please!” she contended loudly. “I get in trouble all the damn time.”

“Ha!” he hollered, laughing loudly. “Gettin’ grounded doesn’t count, Clem. It never lasts more than a few hours, so I don’t wanna hear it.”

She bit her lip and batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s ‘cause I’m cute,” she explained unnecessarily.

“Well, duh, woman.”

He stopped them both next, kissing her cheek before throwing an arm over her shoulder. She couldn’t help but lean into it, and then him, as they started to walk again. She took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. One that was all him. A little dirt, sweat, and motor oil, and its mixture somehow forming the best-smelling cologne. 

At least to her. 

“And the fact that your dad is Jax Teller has nothing to do it with it?” he countered. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clementine replied haughtily. “That has  _ never _ gotten me out of trouble in my life.”

Reece guffawed at her response, shaking his head as he held open the side door to the compound driveway. 

“What the  _ fuck _ are you two doing?” a voice they both recognized demanded. 

“Dad?” Clementine called to the darkness. “Wh––what are you doing up?”

“Do you know what time it is, Clementine?”

“Shit,” Reece murmured. “Name your price.”

Clementine chuckled softly, despite the situation, making sure to speak lightly. “Date night. Soon.”

“You got yourself a deal, Teller.”

Reece grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together as they walked closer to her dad. The older man seemed too busy watching the ash from the end of his cigarette to notice them touching in his presence. Usually a sign of disrespect of the highest order. 

Naturally, Clementine knew better. It was just the first weapon in his mental and emotional arsenal. Her dad’s patience was legendary, and he had this supernatural ability to remain stoic and seemingly unfeeling in the face of anything, allowing those under his scrutiny to dig their own graves. 

It just never worked on her. 

“We got a meeting in, like, five minutes,” Jax stated. “Think you two can come up for air long enough for that?”

“We, uh, weren’t doing, uh, ya know. That.” He remained as quiet as ever. She sighed. No point in arguing with him. Ever. “Yes, Daddy. We’ll be there.”

“Good,” he grunted. 

Again, he didn’t meet their eyes, and she realized that whatever had dragged him out of bed was more serious than she’d assumed. She just prayed her own stunts hadn’t finally landed her in what he referred to as big boy trouble. 

Sure, it could always be worse. She could always be worse. But she knew she didn’t make things easy for him either. 

Especially after what had happened to them both. 

Unfortunately, this was how she’d learned to deal with the bad things. And it wasn’t like he could fault her for it. She’d learned it from him. 

She let go of Reece’s hand and motioned for him to go inside without her. He nodded and darted in the direction of the door, leaving her to sit down beside her dad on the ancient wooden picnic table that had been placed there well before she was even born. 

And then it was completely silent except for the sound of the door opening and closing behind Reece. 

Clementine stared at the space where he’d been a moment before, always finding it impossible not to watch him leave. Her eyes were forever drawn to the large patch on his back. Identical to the one on hers. The one she had memorized every stitch of. The one that caused fear to erupt in the hearts of all that saw it, with its traditional Grim Reaper bust and cloak. But there was something about its scythe, draped over its shoulder, and its bony outstretched hand that gave her peace in a way nothing else could. 

Despite all that the club had taken from her, all the people that had been stripped away, she wouldn’t trade one single experience for a life on the outside. 

She sighed deeply, laying her head on her dad’s shoulder. “Daddy?” she whispered. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, baby girl,” he replied, patting her knee. “I just don’t like it when you worry me like that.”

Clementine’s eyes welled quickly, and she wondered if he remembered the same moments she did when he said stuff like that. 

“I’m sorry,” she offered, emotion thick in her voice. 

“Me too, baby.” 

She hated that she had no idea what he might even be apologizing for anymore. They had done so many unspeakable things in retaliation for losing those closest to them that she had lost track months ago. 

They fell back into their usual uncomfortable and strained silence, but she reached out and wrapped her arms around him from the side. She was literally forcing a physical connection that was as rare for them these days as one of his smiles. 

And he responded by pulling back just enough to give her a kiss on the crown of her head and then leaning into her embrace. 

“Go inside, doll,” he issued gently. “Daddy’ll be in soon. Just waitin’ for the rest of the yahoos to get here.” 

“Everyone’s coming?” she squeaked. “Why?”

“Something happened,” he informed her flatly. “I’ll tell you inside.”

She knew not to press it. Jax Teller didn’t say jack shit before he was good and goddamn ready, but it bothered her. Mainly because she knew if he was holding out on her, it was by design. He was telling her that he was still in charge. She might be first in line to take over for him when he was gone, but it didn’t mean she was there yet. 

And she was still a woman. She wasn’t to be confided in when there were other men around, and that message was the only one coming through at the moment. 

She nodded curtly before standing and rushing inside. With her anger bubbling right below the surface at all times, her reactions weren’t all that shocking. Least of all to her. But they always managed to surprise her anyway.

By the time she made it inside, passing the pool table that held Reece and the other Prospects whose names she hadn’t bothered to learn, she could only see red. She deserved to know, as far as she was concerned. As it stood, she had all of the responsibilities of being in charge and none of the privilege. 

It just wasn’t fucking fair. She hadn’t exactly chosen this path for herself. 

“Whoa, baby. You okay?” Reece questioned, grabbing her wrist as she breezed past him. “What’s going on?”

She rounded on him. “How the hell would I know?” 

He furrowed his brows at her outburst as he waited for her to explain herself. He’d seen her act like this enough times to know what she needed right now. Always time. In the beginning, he was constantly trying to fix things for her, but he’d learned she could fix them her damn self. 

If she had half a mind. 

She rarely did. 

Reece moved her away from the others when she remained quiet, crossing his arms over his chest, still waiting patiently. 

“Everyone’s coming in,” she huffed finally. 

“Wait, why? Over that shit?” he asked, pointing to the gated entrance out front. “That doesn’t make any sense, Clem.”

“No, I… I don’t think it has anything to do with tonight,” she admitted. “But maybe he’s just tired of us messing around all the time.”

“I doubt it,” Reece contradicted. “He woulda said something by now.” He paused, looking over the group that was already assembled. “And he wouldn’t call everyone in to put us on trial at midnight on a Sunday.”

For a split second, Reece’s words made sense. They made her feel better. The knot in her stomach loosened. But she needed more reassurance than that lately. 

“Are you sure?”

“I…”

“Hey, inside. Let’s go.”

This time it was Reece’s dad, James, that interrupted their conversation, calling everyone to order and motioning for all to follow him into the Chapel. There was a rush to the door, forcing Clementine to the back of the group. As usual. Even Reece left her behind, but she was used to it. 

Not intentional, she reminded herself. 

Clementine huffed and reached for the handle just as it opened from the inside, forcing her to move back to keep from getting hit. Her grandpa’s head appeared next and he held out his hand, giving her a slightly bashful grin. 

“Sorry, girlie,” he apologized. “Old habits and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. 

He chuckled as she strutted into the small room, making her way through to her designated seat near the head of the table. She sat down hard and looked to her left, noticing her dad’s seat was still empty. He had his own entrance. One even she didn’t have access to yet. And he was never late. 

She swiveled her chair to catch her grandpa’s eye, but just as he went to open his mouth to answer her unvoiced question, her dad strolled in with the stragglers. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he growled. 

The light chatter instantly dropped as they all waited for him to talk. Instead, he rubbed his hands over his face as he sat down, laying his hands flat across the wooden table with the same symbol from their patch burned onto its surface. 

“We don’t know who did it yet,” he began,” but someone came out against the club. We lost a few people tonight.” 

Clementine’s mouth fell open slightly as the words tumbled from his. Then the shock set in. Whatever she had thought he might say, that was the furthest thing from it. And all the memories of finding out her own mother and brothers were gone came rushing back with such force it left her breathless. 

It wasn’t long ago that  _ she’d _ been the one to learn her loved ones were never coming home again. Now someone else, several someones it seemed, would discover they shared the same fate. 

“There’s a kid,” he continued. “He’s patched, but he’s barely twenty. He lost both his parents. I talked to the charter up there and they have people willing to take him in. But me and Ope,” he said, motioning to himself and Reece’s dad, the Vice President, “think it’d be better if he came here. It was a hit. An organized one. We can’t have him out there alone. They don’t have the bodies to protect themselves right now like they need to.”

“The Heretics?” someone piped up, mentioning their rival club. 

“No,” he returned. “We don’t think so.”

Next, he reached out and placed a hand over Clementine’s much smaller one, giving it a light squeeze, not looking directly at her. That name hadn’t been spoken inside these four walls in over a year until tonight. But she couldn’t afford to let anyone see her being coddled. 

She tried to move her hand, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“We sending anyone?” her grandpa asked of his son. 

“Yeah, a couple of people from each charter. Twenty-something in total.”

Clementine’s grandpa nodded, but didn’t say a word otherwise. It had been over nineteen years, right around when she had been born, since the torch had been handed off to the next generation, so he was used to remaining quiet unless called on. And even then, it was more or less ceremonial. 

He didn’t technically hold any power. He just knew that his voice carried weight with old and new members alike, and in moments like these, it comforted them too. It wasn’t a lot, but Clementine knew he liked that he could provide even that. 

“We gotta go get him, though,” her dad maintained. “Tomorrow. I can’t have him trying to come down by himself. So, let’s vote. I wanna get back to bed.”

“Where at?”

Once again, Jax didn’t look up to see who’d asked, answering only in as flat a tone as possible. 

“Medford.”

When it got quiet again, and it seemed there were no more questions, he picked up the gavel laying next to his other hand and pointed it at Reece’s dad, opposite Clementine. “Ope?”

“Yay.”

“Puck?” he motioned to Reece next.

“Yay.”

“Juice?”

“Yay.”

“Happy?”

“Yay.”

“Bobby?”

“Yay.”

They continued around the table like this, like they always did, getting everyone’s votes. They had known, of course, before they started, that it was going to be unanimous, no matter what the meeting was about. No one went against her dad. And it was in their Constitution. It had to be this way. Or they didn’t do it. He had made it so, in fact. He had done something unprecedented when he took over. He had changed the rules. And then changed them again. 

For her. 

“Clem?”

“Yay,” she answered automatically. 

“Good.” Jax banged the gavel quietly. “Meet back here tomorrow morning at 0700. We leave at 0800. Anyone late is gonna be hanging out with the Prospects runnin’ shipments for a while. Got it?”

They all murmured their acceptance of the terms before he waved his hand, indicating they were free to leave. After the initial flurry of movement, everyone cleared out, leaving just five of them. Clementine, Reece, her dad, her grandpa, and Reece’s dad. 

“Ope, we got enough for everyone tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah,” he offered absentmindedly. “As long as no one unloads a clip or anything, we’ll be fine.”

“It better not come to that,” Jax grunted. 

“We really don’t know who did it?” Clementine asked. 

“No, baby. And we don’t have time to figure it out right now. We gotta go get him.”

“I’ll go get a room ready,” she replied. 

He reached over and patted her cheek, trying his best to give her a smile. His nerves were probably frayed tonight, with the situation being so similar, so it came off as more of a scowl, but the sentiment was there. He was trying. And that’s all he could give her right now. 

“Thank you, Clementine.”

“‘Course, Daddy.”

“Well, my old ass is going to bed. Make sure everyone behaves tonight.”

Opie nodded and they all watched as he left. 

Clementine fought the urge to run after him and force him to talk to her, wanting desperately to make it better for him and herself. And also knowing it wasn’t feasible. That day would haunt this club forever, the Tellers more than anyone else. Seeing her mom in a pool of her own blood, in broad daylight with her brothers next to her, was forever seared in her brain. No amount of alcohol or even an ice pick would remove it now. 

And she would know. She had tried it all. 

But letting it consume them again would get them all killed this time, and the price that had already been paid was too high. SAMCRO wouldn’t survive another trip to Hell like the last.


	2. Act One

Clementine watched silently as everyone still left in the room talked amongst themselves. She knew she was still sitting with them because she had no idea where to go from here. Or how to handle herself. She only knew one thing in this place. Chores. She knew chores. But it felt wrong to give into them too much now. Her pay grade was a bit higher than that. Not that it meant she'd never do chores again, or that she was too important to fold some clothes. It just didn’t feel like enough. 

Nothing did anymore. 

“You okay, baby girl?” her grandpa asked, pulling her attention away from her spiraling thought pattern. 

She turned to him slowly, plastering her usual fake smile on her face. It was a superficial trick she regularly employed to make everyone think she was okay even though they all knew it wasn’t true. 

“I’m…”

“If you say fine, I swear to God, I’m gonna lose it, Clem,” Reece interjected. 

She perked an eyebrow and then swiveled the ancient leather chair until it was facing his direction next. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t take it anymore,” he admitted, putting his head in his hands. “You’re not fine. Your dad’s not fine. No one is fucking fine, Clem. This feels like last time. You’re… you’re  _ not _ fine.”

“I…”

“Your dad is going to be okay, baby girl,” her grandpa interrupted in a vain attempt to reassure her. “He’s just been up in his head since your momma and your brothers. It’s just…”

“I know, Papa. I do.” 

“He’s the strongest fucker I know,” Bobby insisted, making her smile a little more genuine. His usual brand of gruff humor and crude language never failed her in that regard. “And we’ve all survived way worse.”

“This is different,” Happy added, his tone adding a seriousness no one asked for. Per his usual too. “He’s changed.”

“I know that,” Bobby returned, his voice clipped. “I just meant…”

“Thanks, uh, guys,” she said quietly, standing up. “I’m just gonna go…”

She pointed toward the door, much like her dad had a short time ago, toward the main area of the clubhouse, and then darted in its direction without so much as a backward glance when she felt the tears pooling in her eyes. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

A stray one escaped and cascaded down her cheek just as she crossed the threshold for the Chapel, and then she heard Opie call out for Reece to watch after her. 

Another vain attempt. 

A daddy’s girl through and through, it seemed, because it was never more clear to her than in these moments that she’d never live down anything that had happened that night in this clubhouse. A pain that she knew only her own father would ever be able to understand properly. 

And it didn’t help that no one would let them forget it either. But it wasn’t like she could find it in herself to be mad about it. They were all entitled to process the grief however they saw fit. It just didn’t exactly comfort Clementine any to know there was a whole slew of people who had personally seen as bad as it would ever get for the Tellers. 

She knew they were allowed to be nervous, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. 

“Babe, slow down,” Reece whisper-shouted as he jogged behind her to catch up. “Babe. Seriously. The chores aren’t going anywhere. Chill for a second.”

But she didn’t break her stride, heading straight behind the bar and into the laundry room that had been expanded at the request of her mother years earlier. The legend had always gone that when Tara Teller told Clementine’s dad she wanted something, it magically appeared. And every bit of this clubhouse was no different. 

If Momma wanted more room, more room is what she got. No questions asked. No justification needed. 

In this place, she had been a goddess. But she had never abused her power. Even though Clementine knew in her heart she absolutely could have. And until tonight, she had resented this room’s very presence. A bigger laundry room had meant more for Clementine to do, but right now all she could see was her mother. A piece of the world that existed solely because Tara Teller had willed it into existence. 

Just like Clementine. 

“What do you need?” Reece asked softly behind her. 

She turned to him, confusion etched on her features. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been staring off into space for a good three minutes. Which shelf, babe?”

She huffed dramatically. “Why is everything up so high anyway?”

“Do you really want to know?” he wondered, walking around her and forcing her to look him in the eye. “Because I bet you don’t have a clue.”

“Please,” she issued, rolling her eyes. “I know everything.”

He chuckled low. “Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway.” He cleared his throat and she folded her arms across her chest. “My dad said it was because your dad wanted to make sure that your mom would always need him. She’d have to ask for his help, even if she was pissed off or something.”

She scoffed, pointing to the sheets behind him. “That makes no sense, Puck. She could’ve asked your dad, for one. He’s taller than my dad. And my mom was almost his height anyway.”

“With her heels on, babe,” Reece contradicted. “Why do you think you’re so fucking short? Huh?”

“Whatever,” she grumbled, grabbing the sheets from his hands. 

“Talk to me,” he begged quietly, placing a finger under her chin. 

“About?” she questioned sarcastically. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, leaning in slowly. “Someone was shot and killed tonight. More than one someone. I’m sure this isn’t great for you given what happened to your mom and brothers, so ya know… Care to weigh in on this delicate situation?”

“No one said shot,” she whispered, his mouth inches from hers. 

Reece gave her his own signature deadpan expression that told her he wasn’t buying her bullshit, and seemed to be waiting for her to tell him anyway. 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she confessed. “Yes, it reminds me of them. But what am I gonna do, Puck? Fall apart again? No. I am going to hold it together and make sure the new kid has clean fucking sheets when he gets here. Okay? So, can we please leave this alone?”

Clementine didn’t wait for him to respond, instead turning on her heel and rushing from the room. She knew not to give him the chance to continue any conversation like this. Mainly because he was the only one who got away with calling her out like that. 

She breezed through the living area, winking at a group of smaller children playing on the floor near the TV, and then let her smile drop again as soon as she made it into the first hallway that led to the spare rooms on the first floor. She was glad they were already here, had some place to go that was safe, but she needed a moment before she was expected to be on too. 

Clementine stopped at one of the rooms she knew to be empty and turned the knob slowly. She didn’t usually make a habit of entering rooms that her mom and her had spruced up together. It was too hard, held too many memories. 

Even though it was like all the others, old and new, with its simple bed, dresser, nightstand, bathroom set-up, it still felt homey. But anything her mother touched ended up like that one way or another. 

It was the exact reason she and her dad had chosen to stay here and never go back to the house after they’d lost everyone else. This was easier, and it still had touches of her without being overwhelming. It felt like home without housing all those soured glimpses into their ruined lives. 

“Baby, come on,” Reece whined, shutting the door behind him as he walked in after her. “Let’s get some sleep. We have to be up early. You can handle it then.” 

“I don’t want to put it off,” she answered, her response short and her tone clipped. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Who’s gonna do it, Puck?” she spat. 

“Literally any of the Crow Eaters out there, Cinderella,” he argued. “Your last name is Teller, for fuck’s sake. Mine is Winston. We’re in charge, Clem. They’d totally do it.”

She snorted her laughter. “You’re so fucked up. You know that, right?” she asked as she moved to make the bed. “ _ We _ aren’t in charge of anything. Our dads are. They’ve made that abundantly clear. To me, anyway.”

Reece huffed at her answer, sitting down hard in the only chair in the room. “It won’t be that much longer, though,” he grumbled. “Then it’ll just be you and me running this whole damn thing.”

“And I will be right here. Doing laundry. Because it’s club first, Puck.”

“Do you have any idea how weird it is that I find you even hotter when you’re all serious and dedicated and shit?” he revealed quietly, talking more to himself than to her. “Sounds just like your dad. Super confusing.”

Clementine couldn’t help the small giggle that fell from her lips next, knowing that’s exactly what he’d meant to do by saying it at all. He was pulling out all the stops now, it seemed. Reece was good at it, too. He had the ability to break through tension better than anyone else she knew, and it had been her saving grace over the last year. He was trying to distract her, like he always did, and sometimes he used much more lewd methods than laughter, but all were effective. 

Not that she minded the sex tactic, though. 

“Seriously, baby,” he repeated, standing up as she laid the sheet on the bed next. “You don’t have to do this part. You aren’t responsible for this anymore. You’re not going to just be my Old Lady. You’re going to be the goddamn President. And I get it. You’re used to it,” he persisted, undeterred by her expressions as he rambled on. “I know it probably calms you down or some shit, but it’s pointless, baby. It really is.”

“Everything I learned from my mom is pointless?” she countered, purposely misinterpreting his statement to pick a fight. 

“Whoa, hey,” he said quietly, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “That’s not fair. That’s not what I meant.”

“You did,” she pressed. “Or what? Are you trying to say you didn’t say it now?”

“I’m not doing this with you, Clem. I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to say anything you learned from her wasn’t extremely important.”

“I sit in his seat, Puck,” she stressed. “I sit in Abel’s seat when I sit at that table. I sit there and I hear his voice every day. I sit there and I second-guess every fucking decision I make in that room, as if it wasn’t hard enough already, wondering if he would’ve made the same one. So, excuse the fuck outta me if I do the laundry because it’s the only place I don’t feel inadequate.”

Her chest heaved as she finished her outburst, now staring him down with daggers shooting from her eyes. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he repeated. 

“No one ever does,” she said with a laugh, which never reached her eyes. “Just go to bed, Puck. I’ll be there in a second.”

Reece nodded regretfully and then walked from the room, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as he passed. And when she couldn’t hear his receding footsteps going toward her room, the one they effectively shared now, she took a deep, shaky breath and walked back into the hallway in search of pillows. 

She gasped quietly and put a hand on her chest when she noticed her grandpa leaning against the nearest wall, though. 

“Papa, you scared me.”

“Don’t let that boy talk to you like that,” he retorted. 

“Let him,” she smirked. “I don’t think you know how it works around here. Which is odd, given how old you are,” she teased. 

Clay chuckled, despite his earlier tone, seemingly never ready for her quick wit. Another trait he constantly reminded her she’d inherited from her whip-smart mother. 

“I mean it, baby girl,” he continued. 

“Papa, he didn’t mean anything by it,” she contended. 

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he remarked with a shrug. “But you’re in charge and he is too, by association. You guys have to have a united front, like your dad and Ope. No matter what kind of relationship you have behind the scenes.”

“Well, it’d be a hell of a lot easier for everyone to treat me like a grown-up, Papa, and listen to me like they should, including Puck, if you and Daddy would stop callin’ me baby girl.”

He chuckled darkly. “Maybe, but we’re too old.” He shook his head sadly. “And it’s hard for us to change. But you  _ are _ the baby.”

“But I’m not  _ a _ baby, Papa.”

“No. You’re not.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. “Which is why I’m sayin’ what I’m sayin’. Watch out for that boy.”

She shook her head and laughed to herself. “That boy, Papa? Really? You’ve known Reece his whole life and now he’s ‘that boy’? We both grew up here, remember? I’m just as capable of being full of piss and vinegar as he is.”

She motioned to the deep chocolate colored walls that surrounded them both, holding every story since this place had been built, well before her time, knowing she wasn’t wrong. Chaos was all any of them had known, and despite what it may look like to anyone else, Reece didn’t have a vindictive or power-hungry bone in his body. In this one instance, and she’d never say it out loud, her Papa was wrong. 

But she’d let him down easy. 

It was the least she could do. 

“Just… be careful,” he echoed. “I’ve seen things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, baby girl. But definitely not you. I’d hate to have to kill him for hurting your feelings, is all I’m saying.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a heavy sigh. 

He nodded once, ready to finally let it drop, as he walked away from her too. She watched him for a second, his slightly slumped shoulders finally showing his advanced age and all the weight he’d been forced to carry over the years. 

But all it did was remind her that this club left its mark on you. One way or another. Her scars were just much more visible. 

And no one wanted to let her forget they were there. 


	3. Act Two

“What the fuck do you mean I can’t go?” Clementine screamed, chasing after Jax.

Clay and the guys sat in the parking lot, all lined up along the rail, waiting for and watching the impending implosion like it was some kind of trainwreck they couldn’t stop and couldn’t tear their eyes from. 

“Baby girl, stop,” Jax issued firmly, shouting back at her over his shoulder. “I said you can’t go. You can’t go.”

“Why not?” she pleaded loudly, bordering on whining. “I did…”

“Because,” he interrupted. 

“Because I’m the baby?” she finished for him. “You know that’s bullshit, Daddy. I worked my ass off last night. I was the first one here this morning. I  _ deserve _ to go.”

Jax sighed heavily and turned, holding out his arms to keep her from barrelling into him as he stopped suddenly. “I need someone here I can trust to be able to run the whole place, Clementine. Please don’t make this hard. Please.”

“No, fuck that,” she retorted. “And fuck you.”

“Enough!” Jax bellowed, making Clementine jump slightly at the noise. But just like her mother before her, she stood her ground. Determined. Stubborn. “Enough,” he said softer. “I’m pullin’ rank. You stay here ‘cause I fucking said so. How ‘bout that?”

Clay shook his head and gave a low chuckle, causing both Clementine and Jax to turn their heads in his direction slowly. And while he knew he should probably be ashamed, he remained the picture of ease, leaning against the bike he hadn’t ridden in over a year. 

“What are you doing here?” Jax demanded. “You ain’t going either, old man. You can’t ride that far.”

Clay sat up slightly straighter and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s my only form of entertainment. Reminds me of better days. When it was you and me and shit.” He shrugged again. “Sue me.”

Bobby, Chibs, Juice, Happy, and even Tig snickered at his comment, obviously remembering their tumultuous collective club history. But as soon as Jax turned his scowl on them, they each attempted to cover it up with a yawn or a cough. 

Not Clay, though. 

Never Clay. 

“I said no,” Jax repeated, turning back to Clementine. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Daddy…”

“Clementine, I want you here,” he interrupted again. “I  _ need _ you here, baby girl.”

She stared him down. Hard. Harder than Clay had seen in a long damn time. Probably hoping she could wear him out like she had all those other times, but it either wasn’t clicking or she didn’t want to admit that the stare had never been the cause for Jax Teller changing his course. 

It had always been Tara. 

She was the one who came between Jax and the child most like him in every damn way. The good doc always refereed, smoothing things over, holding hands and talking them through it. But she was gone, and now they were stuck with each other, doomed to try and figure out how to make it all work on their own. 

Of course, it helped Clay to know Jax’s real reasoning behind keeping his princess locked away in her metaphorical tower all the time. He knew what those nightmares did to him, the ones that showed him his life completely alone. The ones that had planted themselves in his brain shortly after Tara and the boys had met their end. 

Jax could only see Clementine joining them, and it had nearly destroyed him several times over. But he couldn’t be honest with her either. He couldn’t just tell her what the real problem is and why it would kill him this time. 

So they were stuck here, in this sort of stalemate, forever locking horns. 

“I’ll be good,” Clementine promised, ignoring everyone else around them and wrapping her arms around Jax’s middle, batting her eyelashes for the full effect. “I promise, Daddy.”

“I know. I know, but I can’t do it,” he returned, swallowing hard and removing her arms. 

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and shook her head before scoffing loudly and stalking back toward the clubhouse. Reece reached out a hand to stop her, but she shrugged out of his grasp. He then stood like he was going to go after her before Jax shot that idea down real fast. 

“Let her go,” he instructed the young man. “You guys can kiss and make up when you get back.”

Reece nodded solemnly, forever the good little soldier he was raised to be, but continued to stare at the now closed clubhouse door anyway. He knew he should chase after her, like he’d done a million times, but Jax’s word was law. It was a done deal. 

No one went against Jax Teller. 

Anymore. 

“You know you treat her like an Old Lady, right?” Bobby offered as Jax strapped on his helmet, throwing a leg over to stand up his bike. “That’s what she’s really mad about.”

“Bobby?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“You shut up too,” he teased. 

Bobby chuckled low as he put on his own helmet, the cacophony of motors revving to life drowning out any future conversation, and Clay gave a quick wave as they all left the yard. But he turned just in time to see Clementine standing in the garage bay doors, wiping a stray tear from her cheek as they all rode away. 

And she wasted no time as she slid underneath the cherry red 1967 Oldsmobile Cutlass she had spent the last year restoring. 

He knew it wasn’t his place, and it definitely wasn’t his business anymore, outside of her being his granddaughter, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to help her. It had been forever since he had felt useful to the club, and he wasn’t giving this up without a fight. 

He liked the idea of being able to fix something way too much to ignore it. 

Even if it was just one thing, and that thing was Clementine, he could feel indispensable again. He felt like it might be possible to save her from the very thing he had pushed Jax toward all those years ago. 

He could save Clementine, and then maybe he could learn to forgive himself. 

If she’d let him. 

“Baby girl,” Clay sighed heavily, coming around to sit on a nearby stool. “Talk to me.”

“Papa, please,” she replied. “I said I didn’t want to discuss this shit. Leave it. I’m fine. They’re gone. I’m pissed. But I’m doing my job, like always. The end.”

Her voice remained slightly muffled from being underneath the car, but she refused to remove herself from work. A coping mechanism she knew and employed well. But it also didn’t hurt that it was a genetic disposition too, in the Teller line. Throwing oneself into work was literally all they seemed to know how to do. 

Sad? Get to work. 

Happy? Cool, get to work. 

Hungry? Yep, get to work so you can pay for food. 

Never mattered much to John. If something didn’t make sense, he went to work. Work made sense. The world made sense inside this garage. Clay understood the appeal. But he also saw the consequences every damn time he closed his eyes too. 

So he was torn. 

Clay huffed dramatically, standing up to go inside, clearly making no headway here. If she was going to throw herself into restorations and repairs, he’d never get anywhere with her now. But he stopped halfway through when he heard the tail end of a rather vulgar conversation from some Prospects on the other side of the way who had no idea he was there. 

“They’re not gonna be thinkin’ it’s so funny when I tell your Daddy what they’re saying about you,” Clay mumbled, more to himself than to Clementine. 

“It doesn’t matter, Papa,” Clementine contended. “I’m with Reece. They know that. They’re just being dumb.”

“They don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re single or not. They’re ready to whip it out.” 

Clementine laughed quietly and slid out finally, her nose wrinkled at his crude and slightly graphic comment. Not that it was even remotely close to the worst thing she’d heard him say. 

“Papa, that’s disgusting,” she complained. 

“So is what they’re saying,” he exclaimed. “Can’t you hear ‘em?”

“Kinda,” she stated. “But it doesn’t matter. Like I said.”

Clay sat back down, turning to face her. If she was going to give him a way in, no matter how small, he was going to take it. And call it wish fulfillment, but that sounded like a way in to him. 

“That doesn’t get to you?” he pressed. 

“Them?” she asked, rifling through her toolbox. “No. Why would it? They’re not gonna stop. No point in tellin’ them off either. Or telling Daddy. Or Reece. It’s just part of being a woman in an MC.”

“Not for you it shouldn’t be,” he tried to contest. 

“Yes,” she said, smiling over at him sweetly. “Even for me.”

“What about Reece?” he tried, approaching the next subject with caution. “What about the way he talks to you?”

“Spit it out, Papa,” she said, shaking her head with a smirk. 

“I don’t like him,” Clay huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t like  _ any _ of this, if I’m being honest.”

Thankfully, Clementine just smiled wider at his confession, and made her way back to the car. 

“He’s not perfect, Papa,” she explained. “But he’s perfect for me.”

“You feelin’ okay? Got a fever or something?” he joked.

She pulled back from the engine block enough to give him a quizzical look. 

“If that boy heard you talkin’ like that, he’d propose today,” he offered. “Didn’t know a Teller had it in them to be that sweet.”

She rolled her eyes, whispering conspiratorially next. “Which is why we’re never gonna tell him.”

“No way in hell am I sayin’ something like that to another man,” Clay snorted derisively. “Much less to my granddaughter’s boyfriend.”

He shuddered at the thought, making Clementine giggle. She shook her head and bit her lip as she leaned against the frame, thinking hard about something as her forehead creased. 

“We’re basically engaged, Papa,” she began. “Speak now or forever hold your peace. No point in waiting until the wedding. I know you got something to say beyond you don’t like it.”

Once again, Clementine saw right through him and demanded honesty at every turn. And she was right, of course. He did have more to say. A novel’s worth, probably. But if it wasn’t the right time, if she wasn’t ready to hear it, it’d make a negative impact instead of a positive one. 

And SAMCRO couldn’t afford that. 

Not with Tara gone. 

“I think you need to do this by yourself,” he blurted out, against his better judgment. Per his usual. “It’s what your Momma would want. And Gemma.”

Clementine straightened up at the mention of their names, but Clay knew to stand his ground. She wasn’t the type of person you back down from and live to tell the tale. Nothing ended well that way either, and nothing got resolved. 

“You do what you want, though,” he finished. “You’re gonna anyway.”

Then he gave her a small wink, trying to lighten the mood. But her brow stayed furrowed and his heart raced, his mind stumbling its way through every worst-case scenario for what might come next. 

“He wouldn’t try and take over, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she replied, playing with the grease rag in her hands absentmindedly. “I wouldn’t let him.”

Clay’s smirk turned into a full-fledged smile at that remark, unable to help himself. “Damn right, baby girl. Damn right.”

“But stop trying to trick me,” she said, her voice small. “It’s not going to work.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re doing,” she accused. “You’ve been trying for over a year. And I just can’t do it yet, Papa. I’ll talk about them, and what happened, when I’m ready.”

She gave him a shaky sigh, stood back up, and grabbed the nearest tool before ducking back under the hood. 

“Daddy still hasn’t dealt with his shit,” she continued unprompted. “Go bug him sometimes too.”

“Just ‘cause you don’t see it, don’t mean it don’t happen,” Clay advised. “Remember that.”

“Papa, please. You don’t tell him to talk about it. Or deal with his emotions. Stop lyin’.”

“You don’t know,” he scoffed. “I might.”

He didn’t need to be looking at her face to know she rolled her eyes at his half-assed rebuttal. He could practically  _ hear _ it.

And he wanted very much to tell her she was wrong. But he couldn’t do that. He didn’t talk to Jax about his feelings. It wasn’t something they’d ever been good at, but if their history had taught them anything, it was that just because something has been done a certain way forever doesn’t make it right. 

Clementine Teller was Clay’s hope. His hope that the cycle of violence, stupidity, and secrets would be broken with the next generation. He’d had the same hope when it came to Abel and Thomas, but with Clementine it seemed so much closer. 

Real. 

Tangible. 

_ Possible _ . 

“If you were gonna talk to him, it would’ve been when he was parading all those bitches in and out of here right after it happened,” she argued. “But you left him alone. Everybody did. You only came after me to make sure  _ I _ was okay.”

“And did it work?” he contended. “And why wouldn’t my worry be you? He’s a grown man. He can handle himself.”

“No, it didn’t work, Papa. I’m not okay. I wasn’t then either.” Clementine ducked her head again, but this time it seemed to resemble something closer to shame that he couldn’t quite place. “And he isn’t either. I told you that while it was going on, too, but this club has a bad damn habit of ignoring shit until it blows up. And then it’s just way too late.”

Clay reached up and rubbed the back of his neck at her outburst. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to change that,” he revealed. “But your daddy is too far gone. I can’t help him if he doesn’t want help. We’ve seen too much shit together. But you, baby girl, you have a future and a life ahead of you that doesn’t have to be marred by all this shit. You can be better.”

“I… I miss them,” she admitted somberly. “I miss the way things used to be. I even miss the way he was. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t get my life back just because I miss it. So stop acting like anyone here knows how to process their grief, or that I somehow magically should because I’m a girl. I don’t have to break all the damn molds, Papa. It’s not fair to ask either.”

Clay snapped his mouth shut at her small speech. Whatever asinine things he’d been ready to come back with didn’t seem important now. She was right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It was too much pressure. And she had said she was uncomfortable with everything, she had told them her feelings, and they had done exactly nothing constructive with that information. 

She was right. There was no reason for her to come clean with him, or anyone, about what was racing through her head most days. She was more of a functioning adult, even carrying all that extra weight the grief had placed on her shoulders, than most of them. 

Clementine opened her mouth to say something else when the door beside them both burst open and Lyla popped her head out. 

“Oh my God, Clem,” she said, clearly relieved and slightly out of breath. “Can you come help me real quick?”

“Sure. What’s up?” she asked, not raising her head, her voice thick with emotion.

Lyla grumbled a few choice curse words under her breath. “Oh, ya know, just in here fuckin’ up your Momma’s lasagna.”

Clementine and Clay both scoffed and then smirked as they turned to each other, sharing a private joke. “My mom did not cook,” Clementine remarked. “You must mean Grandma’s lasagna. And yes, I’ll be right there.”

She started to wipe her hands on the rag again, for real this time, but all it did was smear the grease around. “Let me, uh, get cleaned up real quick. Okay?”

“Thank you, Clem,” Lyla said with a smile, rushing back toward the kitchen. 

Clementine watched the closed door for a long second before she walked over to Clay, standing right in front of him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and looked straight in his eyes, forcing a sort of intimacy no one in this clubhouse had ever been comfortable with. 

“I can handle myself, Papa,” she pledged. “Just gonna have to trust me.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

She bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing after Lyla. Clay watched her go, and thought of all the things that had led them to this place. 

Naturally, all that did was unleash the avalanche of guilt all too common when he decided to reminisce. His chest got tight when the memories assaulted him, causing him to remember all the close calls over the years. 

John Teller, Clay imagined, would be none too impressed with his handiwork. But he also knew that had been true the minute John had pulled away from this club and his own family, forcing Clay to be the one to pick up the pieces. 

All Clay could wish for now was that whenever he saw his old friend again, he’d at least be able to forgive him. 

Because he sure as shit didn’t seem to be able to forgive himself. 


	4. Act Three

Jax pulled off his helmet slowly and looked up at the small building with its shuttered windows. If he was anyone else, he probably would have driven right by without even noticing it. But Jax wasn’t someone else, and he did know. 

And he absolutely, positively did  _ not _ want to walk inside. 

He knew what was waiting for him. All grief and chaos. That’s all that could be inside. It would be all anyone left to pick up the pieces would have space for in their lives. And Jax Teller understood that more than most, unfortunately. 

But no matter how he felt, or which emotions this dredged up, he couldn’t let it overshadow what needed to be done. It didn’t even matter that the images of his own heartbreak were assaulting him in rapid succession and threatening to drown him in agony. He had sworn to protect these people, and he had to make sure they had the ability to recover. Whenever that might be possible. 

It sure as shit wasn’t going to be tomorrow, or even next week, but he knew something resembling a new normal existed on the other side of this misery. And Jax had to make sure they  _ made _ it to the other side. 

“Ready, Jackie Boy?” Chibs asked quietly beside him, jerking him out of his reverie. 

“No,” he returned truthfully. “Not even a little bit.”

Chibs only nodded in response to Jax’s honesty as he stared up at the building too, blinking rapidly, obviously remembering all the same things he was right now. 

“Yeah, me either, brother,” Opie interjected from his other side. “Me either.”

He reached over and patted Jax on the back hard as they both stood up to walk inside anyway, though. They both knew there was no use in delaying this. They needed to get back to the clubhouse as soon as possible. Jax needed to be back with Clementine. He didn’t function without knowing where she was at all times. 

When she left, the nightmares came. 

Not that he let it show. He couldn’t exactly afford to seem as useless as he felt most days. He had to keep going, keep moving, or he’d die. And so would every single person he loved. Club history told him that much. 

“Keep an eye out,” Jax commanded Bobby as he passed him. “I have no idea how long this is gonna take.”

“You got it, boss.”

Jax offered a smirk and then threw the doors open wide with shaking hands, knowing if he waited even another second, he’d lose his nerve completely. There was just too much similarity here for him not to feel the full effects of the rage and turmoil that burned his insides daily. He knew it was inevitable, being in this place because of this exact reason, but it didn’t mean he had learned to function with all these emotions brewing. He simply wasn’t comfortable existing in this space. 

He was still too raw, too exposed, by all his heartbreak. 

His eyes adjusted to the lower lights inside after a short but torturous second, and Jax wasted no time in finding someone who might have answers as his eyes landed on one lone man taking shot after shot at the bartop. 

Opie remained behind, near the door, as Jax sauntered over. His steps faltered when he noticed the man was eyeing a patch on the perpetually sticky surface that read PRESIDENT, his own kutte reading VICE PRESIDENT. 

A promotion. 

One no one could have anticipated, or that this man wanted. 

Jax sidled up to the bar after a steadying breath, glad the man was too wasted to notice his momentary hesitation, and nodded to the bartender for a shot of his own. Literally any shot. He’d never been picky about his alcohol before today, and he definitely wasn’t starting now. 

“Hey, man,” he offered gently. “Has, uh, anyone else showed up?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Most got here about an hour ago, I guess.”

Jax nodded too, recognizing the slurred words for what they were attempting to mask. Pain. Pure, unadulterated pain. 

“Everybody settled in? Need us to help?”

“Nah, we’re good,” he responded. “They’re all sleeping it off. I, uh, didn’t start drinkin’ until everybody was good.”

“Of course, man. Yeah, I know,” Jax replied. “You’ll be fine. And you know we got you. Anything you need, okay?”

“ _ He’s _ not gonna be,” the man retorted. 

With his eyes barely focused, he pointed over his shoulder toward the wall behind them. Jax followed his finger, and as he turned, he noticed a kid not much older than Clementine staring a hole in the side of his head. 

And he looked pissed. 

His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw set. Much like Jax had seen Clementine’s earlier that morning. An expression he guessed she was still wearing. 

He gave the man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and sighed heavily before walking straight for him. Holding out on addressing any issues before they got back on their bikes would be a very bad idea, no matter how little motivation Jax had. The kind of anger and resentment this kid possessed was dangerous. It just festered, ripping apart your insides if you weren’t careful. 

And riding that way wasn’t smart. 

Unfortunately, there was no other way to do this. He and Opie had been over it. They didn’t want to take him from his home and the only people he had ever known, but they couldn’t leave him, or this chapter, unprotected. This was the only plan that equaled protection. 

His mouth dropped open, though, when a flash of Clementine replaced the real scene in front of him, and he stopped where he stood, almost falling over. Once upon a time, not that long ago, he had been forced to tell his only daughter what he was going to tell this kid, who he didn’t know from Adam, and Jax had no idea where to start, where to begin this conversation. 

He turned to Opie and called him over, trying to pretend his reservations stemmed from something else entirely.

“Go tell them we’re leavin’ as soon as he’s ready,” Jax instructed, whispering as soon as Opie was close enough to hear him. “And tell them I don’t want anyone givin’ him shit for crying. I’ll fucking gut ‘em.”

“Yep.”

Opie turned on his heel and started toward the door without needing anything further from Jax, probably sensing he didn’t exactly want an audience for what came next. Especially since just like that night, he had no idea what he was going to say. 

“Hey, kid,” Jax began, crossing his arms over his chest. “You ready to go?”

Jax knew his name, he’d done his homework, but they didn’t ever use their proper names. And saying it right off the bat felt like it might set a way too formal tone between them. Jax needed him to trust him. If he was going to make it through, trust was all he had left. 

He jumped up when addressed, standing a whole head taller than Jax, though he was considerably lankier. 

He offered his hand without question. “Mr. Teller, I’m Shelby Dane.”

“Call me Jax,” he countered. 

He shook his head, taking his hand back. “I, uh, don’t think I can do that.”

Jax chuckled ruefully. Another young soldier, just like he had been, who didn’t like bucking tradition, no matter the circumstances. “We got you. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Shelby said, swallowing hard. 

Jax turned back to the room, trying to hide the tears welling in his own eyes, and secretly hoping the atmosphere that was threatening to suffocate him had magically changed. 

“You good to ride?” he asked, his back still to him. 

“Yes, sir.”

When he was sure he wouldn’t start crying, he shifted to face him again. “Need to say goodbye to anyone?”

“No. There’s, uh, no one left.”

Jax nodded curtly, stunned into silence at Shelby’s admission, before making a beeline to the door. He gave a small wave to the bartender that he wanted very much to convey everything he hadn’t said. 

Shelby followed closely on his heels, and Jax found himself glad for one thing only. The kid hadn’t needed Jax and Opie to carry him out. 

When they made it back through the doors, the sun had gone behind the clouds, giving their situation and ride back a much more somber feel than Jax would have liked. It seemed like a funeral march this way. 

Reece stood to attention quickly when they appeared, stomping out a cigarette as they came into view, with most of the guys following his lead. 

“Puck, you flank him,” Jax directed. 

“Yes, boss.”

“Everyone else, you know the deal. Head on a goddamn swivel,” he yelled to be heard over the motorcycle starting up. “And let me know if we need to stop. I’d rather do that than someone get hurt. Got it?”

They all gave a thumbs up or a nod to signal their acceptance as they started to pull out of the parking lot. Jax could tell everyone was anxious to get home like he was, so they were unlikely to slow down for anything. But they seemed to get how it would work if they needed the contingency plan. In theory, at least. 

He kicked his own bike to life right as Opie and Chibs did the same, wanting nothing more than to be back with Clementine. He’d had to push all the bad feelings out of the way to get shit done, which he did most days, but now that he had Shelby and they were on the way home, it had all settled right into the pit of his stomach again. 

As long as she had stayed put, he reminded himself, everything would be fine when he rode back into Charming. But with a last name like Teller, he had very little faith in her ability to do as she was told and stay out of the line of fire. 


	5. Act Four

Opie motioned for a few guys to switch with him as he moved to the back of the group, wanting to get a better vantage point. They didn’t have much longer to go, but it wasn’t easing anyone’s anxious energy. And the sun going down slowly wasn’t helping matters either. If anything, it made it worse.    
  
Everybody knew nothing good went on after dark when you were on a bike. 

And since Opie had a tendency to remember his time inside, when he’d nearly died, Jax could tell the gears in his head were currently working overtime to make sure nothing took them by surprise like that day had. And it wasn’t his fault, either. It was a habit when Opie was given too much quiet time. It always left him no other choice but to think. And overthink. And overthink some more. 

But contemplating the past was often harmful, insidious, and slightly suicidal in their line of work. Sure, they weren’t running guns or illegal drugs anymore, but save for Clementine’s generation, they all had a history of some pretty nasty shit. Dwelling on it wasn’t going to change anything. And it wasn’t that Jax wasn’t nervous or overthinking everything too, but he was the President now. He didn’t have the luxury of worry or indecision. 

Given that they hadn’t run into rain on their way back, Jax couldn’t help but feel like something bad was coming too. Each time they rounded a corner, he felt all his muscles tense. And Jax would never, ever jinx them by saying it out loud, but every hill had him envisioning Mr. Mayhem himself was waiting to greet them. 

He had tried fruitlessly, the whole ride back, to put his mind right, but none of his normal tricks were working. He just kept seeing it all play out in his head, unable to stop it from ending everything they held dear. 

So he did the only thing he could think of. He watched the new kid for any signs of distress. He hadn’t made a peep the whole way, of course, but Jax knew the breakdown stirring was going to be epic. He just prayed they’d all make it back to the clubhouse before he collapsed. 

Because a guy on the edge like that was dangerous. Jax just couldn’t tell which kind of dangerous Shelby was yet. And it scared the shit out of him. 

He looked at each face he could see in front of him next, all set in the same uncertain yet determined expression, and found himself at as much peace as was possible for Jax Teller anymore. After everything they had all been through, the fact that they were even still here was a miracle. 

And miracles for this club were hard to come by these days. 

He switched back to paying attention to the road in front of him, seeing nothing, but suddenly hearing a shot ring out that told him that peace was most certainly over. The worst he’d been dreading was greeting them head-on. 

He looked around wildly, trying to figure out the source of the noise, but coming up empty. He pulled out his gun, like they all had now, but he had nowhere to direct his fury. 

All at once, Happy and Opie surrounded him, getting as close as they could without being right on top of him. And Jax tried to wave them off, to no avail, to get them to focus on the others. He could handle himself. Unfortunately, Clay’s old mindset of club second, President first, was still too ingrained in their heads to see the logic in Jax’s request. 

He wanted to be angry about it, but there was no time. He’d deal with it later. Maybe. Probably not, actually. It was one of those dead and buried things they didn’t discuss anymore, and he knew it. No matter how much it bugged him. 

But it was Opie’s screams that tore Jax right out of his head. 

He recognized the anguish in them. Only a year ago, it had been  _ his _ anguish,  _ his _ pain,  _ his _ torture, and Jax didn’t need to turn and see that Reece had been hurt. Or worse. 

By the time he swiveled around, Reece was already slumped across his handlebars, and the people behind him were moving out of the way as fast as they could so they didn’t get sprayed with the blood trailing along behind him. 

Opie was clearly fighting between the urge to go to his youngest son and stay by Jax’s side, but before he could tell his oldest and dearest friend to pull his head out of his ass, Shelby grabbed a handful of Reece’s kutte. He scooted back just enough to pull him over to his own bike, well before anyone else could react. 

Reece’s bike wobbled sickeningly for a few seconds before crashing spectacularly, the sound of metal being ripped apart turning Jax’s stomach as he fought to stay present in the moment. 

Then Shelby did something that defied the laws of physics or some shit. In fact, if Jax hadn’t had his eyes on him the whole time, he would’ve never believed a soul that told him what happened. 

Shelby pulled a gun out of a holster Jax hadn’t noticed until that moment and took aim at the bushes to the right of all of them. He shot four bullets quickly and then tucked it away again, moving one of his hands back to Reece’s middle to get a better hold on his seemingly lifeless body again. All of his movements were fluid, practiced, rehearsed. And utterly unnerving. 

When the sniper none of them had even thought to watch out for fell into the street, causing several people to swerve, it took everything Jax had not to scream out, the bile rising quickly in his throat. 

Heretic. 

They had lied. 

The war that they had supposedly called a truce for was effectively over, but the whys and hows didn’t matter right now. He had to get them home. 

As he passed the dead man, his eyes got even bigger, noticing that each of the bullets had landed with precision. Two through the heart, two through the head. And Shelby hadn’t even been looking when he’d hit his mark that well.

Something was very wrong. 

Jax moved to the front and Happy took a spot next to Reece, everyone else adjusting accordingly. Opie, of course, took the other side of Reece, and Jax focused on one thing only. How in the hell he was going to tell Clementine. He sure as shit couldn’t run as fast as he used to, and today he might need to because she was going to try and murder her old man when they walked into the clubhouse with bleeding Reece Winston. 

God, he was  _ so _ fucked. 


	6. Act Five

It had taken four minutes and six seconds to get pulled off the highway and into a rest area. A rest area that somehow, someway was completely empty. The only bit of luck they’d had since the day had begun. This way there were no stares, no awkward questions, and no calls to the local PD, who definitely had a warrant or twelve out for Jax and the others. 

And he found himself ecstatic. Mainly because he didn’t have an answer for anyone. He had no idea how they had landed themselves in this position. None of it made sense. And just like after it had gone down, it really didn’t matter why. 

Yet. 

It would matter later. Oh fuck, would it matter later. 

Happy, Juice, Chibs, Bobby, Tig, and the rest all stood around him and Opie as they hovered over Reece trying to find the source of the bleeding. They needed direction, something to do next, but Jax didn’t have that for them either. 

Useless. 

He felt fucking useless again. 

The puddle of blood blossoming out from underneath Reece was making Jax more and more nauseous, but he held it together. Because he had to. There was no other option. But the weakness it made him feel was already threatening to overtake all his senses and turn him into a whole other person. 

“Reece,” he said, speaking softly. “Come on, man. I need you to stay awake, okay?”

“Buddy, please,” Opie begged, his voice cracking. “Please. Your momma is gonna kill me if something happens to you, son.”

Jax pulled Reece’s kutte back, finding the left side completely stained with his scarlet-colored blood where it had once been pure white. He put his hand in the center of the growing spot and Reece let out a soft whimper. 

“I think you need to worry more about Clem, Dad,” he croaked. 

He tried to laugh at his own joke, but all it did was cause a sort of strange gurgling noise to emit from his mouth because he began to cough uncontrollably, blood pouring from his mouth. 

“Fuck.” Jax turned around to the nearest person, not caring who it was and not letting go of Reece. “We gotta go. We need to get back.”

Juice nodded, starting his own bike as Shelby walked out of the shadows. “I can handle him,” he offered. “I just need to know where I’m going.”

Jax wanted very much to turn him down. He just had no idea what to make of this kid who was still incredibly calm. Too calm. Definitely more so than he should be given he’d been shot at twice in the last 24 hours, the first of which had gotten both his parents killed.    
  
But Jax had run out of options about five miles back. And whatever magic act he’d pulled with that stunt was causing him to rethink everything. 

“Ope, put Reece on Shelby’s bike,” he commanded. 

“He can stay with me,” Opie countered. 

Jax shook his head vehemently. “No. You’re not gonna be any good if he starts bleeding out everywhere. Shelby’s got this.” He turned to the other boy. “Right?”

Shelby nodded vigorously and motioned for Opie to follow him. Jax could tell he wanted to protest further, but he could also see Jax was right. They just needed to get him home. Home was the only safe place now. They’d be able to save him if they could just get back on Charming soil. Jax could feel it. 

Bobby pulled off his bandanna as they got Reece to his feet, grabbing Happy’s as well, and fashioning a tourniquet of sorts around his chest. 

Jax turned to Shelby as he worked on getting everything adjusted. “We’ve only got like two, three more miles. Maybe. You can do this. Right?”

He knew he was repeating himself now, sounding like a damn idiot, but they couldn’t afford any more mistakes. This was Reece, and Opie was right. Lyla would kill them all. Of course, that’s if Clementine gave her a chance and didn’t burn it all to the ground first. 

“Yes, sir,” Shelby returned. 

“Do we need to call them?” Opie questioned. 

“No, they’ll freak,” Jax retorted. “They’ll be no help when we get there. And I don’t want to give Clem a head start.”

Shelby and Opie nodded together gravely as he started his bike, being as gentle as possible with Reece. Shortly after, everyone else copied his movements. 

“If it gets worse, just stop,” Jax yelled, struggling to be heard over the noise. “We’ll go straight to the hospital. Nothing is worse losing somebody over. I’ll go back to jail. I don’t give a shit.”

Shelby didn’t respond, but Jax trusted that he’d heard him and understood. Then he raced over to his own bike and inched forward until he and Opie were in the front. Everyone else was circled around them, Shelby in the middle. They were closer than they were used to, but this was how it had to be until they had more information. 

At least now there was a plan too. Get home. Figure out how to save Reece. Jax would just have to deal with whatever shitstorm he was walking into, because he would never let Opie feel the kind of pain he felt every day missing his two oldest sons. 

Never. 


	7. Act Six

Clementine bit her lip as she stared at the next shot she had to make, trying to line it all up perfectly. There was quite a lot of money sitting on the edge of the pool table now, and her opponents had played into the web she’d weaved without hesitation. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t do this to Prospects, but ever since she’d heard what they were saying earlier, she knew a little revenge was in order. 

But she both loved and hated how easy it was to convince everyone she was just some dumb kid with a nice rack. Almost hurt her feelings. If she’d had any of those left, anyway. 

She took a deep breath and then each of the balls sank into the appropriate pocket with an ease she hadn’t exhibited the whole game. Then she leaned back and gave them her, and her father’s, trademark lopsided grin. They stood there, like she knew they would, looking utterly bewildered by what had just happened. 

Her grandpa Clay started to chuckle nearby and she shot him a look that told him to keep quiet as she collected her winnings. 

“Better luck next time, boys,” he offered them. 

They both scoffed and put their pool cues back up on the wall where they belonged. 

“Papa, stop laughing,” she hissed at him. “You’re gonna give me away.”

“Nah,” he replied, patting the seat next to him. “You’re too good.”

She laughed quietly and shook her head, sitting down harder than she’d intended. “How much longer?”

“Well, baby girl, they went to Medford. Gonna be a while. They’ll be here soon, though.” She huffed quietly. “Why? Missin’ your boyfriend?”

Clementine cut her eyes at Clay and then looked back to the door out of habit, trying to will them back into existence. 

“Leave her alone, Clay,” Lyla threatened playfully. “They’re in  _ love _ .”

Clementine blinked rapidly a few times, appearing absolutely scandalized by her assessment, making both the adults around her laugh at her expression. She wanted to retort with something witty and purely Clementine, but Lyla just kept laughing as she headed back to the kitchen without another word. 

“You can always hang out with the Crow Eaters if you’re that bored,” Clay suggested. 

She scoffed. “I am never  _ that _ bored, Papa.”

He smiled wide, moving a piece of hair out of her face. “God, you are just like your momma sometimes, you know it? It’s a little scary.” She gave him a sad smile, not sure how to respond to that either. “If it wasn’t for your wild blonde hair, I’d forget I wasn’t talking to her.”

Clementine bit the inside of her cheek as she looked away. She was trying to decide how best to phrase her next question without upsetting her grandpa, or herself. “Do… do you think she’d be mad if she found out I got left here because I’m a girl?”

He seemed to be contemplating her words for a second before he finally answered. “Yeah. She would. Probably kick your Daddy’s ass in front of God and everybody,” he explained. “But that’s not why you got left, baby girl, and you know it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. 

Clay put a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Not whatever, Clementine,” he countered, using her actual name for once. “He’d die if something happened to you. You’re all he’s got left. That’s why he works so hard to keep you safe.”

“He’s got the club,” she insisted. “Not just me.”

Clementine knew her argument was as hollow as they came, even to her ears, but she couldn’t help making it anyway. She knew her grandpa was right. She’d seen her dad absolutely wrecked with grief. And if he lost her too, that would be the end of any reasonable, sane Jax Teller. But she didn’t want to believe that this was all her life was now. 

“I know what you’re really asking,” he continued. “And it’ll be fine. You’ll be in charge before you know it.”

“Won’t matter,” she pouted. “No one’s gonna listen to me.”

“He’s still figuring it out,” Clay said. “We all are.”

“But, Papa…”

“Baby girl, listen,” he interrupted. “You’re doing an amazing job. Just give him some time to come to terms with lettin’ you go. He never intended for this to be your role. And now he’s scared as shit by what that means.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. 

Clay chuckled softly, leaning across the short space to put a kiss on her temple. “When you’re in charge, you can kick out all us sexist assholes, okay?”

“Oh, Papa, I’d never do that to you.”

“Well, then you’re already better than us. But we knew that, huh?” he tacked on with a wink.

“Damn right.”

He chuckled again lightly and gave her a hug just as the doors swung wide open. The lights from the parking lot poured in just long enough for Clementine to see her worst fear being realized. 

They were all carrying an unconscious Reece inside while he left a line of blood on the concrete floor like some kind of macabre bread crumb trail. Then they laid him carefully on the very pool table where she’d just been taking some douchebag’s money. 

Opie leaned down close to his son’s face, holding a finger to his neck, and Clementine held her breath as she waited for the news. What had happened before didn’t matter now. All she could focus on was whether she was about to lose her best friend like she’d lost the others. 

“It’s kinda weak,” Opie confirmed. “Clem?”

He turned to her with wild eyes as she heard Lyla gasp quietly somewhere in the distance. It was true that she’d played nurse to every one of these guys over the years, learning everything from her mom, but this was different. This was Reece. 

“What the hell happened?” she asked through gritted teeth as a hush fell over the crowd around them. “Tell. Me. Now.”


	8. On The Next Episode

**Episode 1x02**

**_Church of the Broken_ **

Logline: With one of their legacies in trouble, the club comes face-to-face with the consequences of being lulled into a false sense of security by the truce following the death of their matriarch, Tara Teller.


End file.
